


Rainy Day

by hypnoshatesme



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Kinda Fluffy, Other, i think, kinda sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:48:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26791669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypnoshatesme/pseuds/hypnoshatesme
Summary: A quiet, rain-filled moment in Gerry's un-life.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	Rainy Day

**Author's Note:**

> Came across @galileojones Fantober prompts and liked some, so I decided to write some. Just generally in the mood to write some...seasonally appropriate stuff, if you stretch the definition a little. Would also be open to requests, if there are any :)  
> Today's prompt was "Rainy day", though I'll probably mix things, skip others...we'll see.
> 
> Otherwise, I wish you all a cozy October, I hope it will be kind to you.

It had been raining all day and Gerry had been thankful for it. The endless silence that stretched on when he was left outside the pages was horrible. It made him too aware of the fact that he made no sound. Too aware of the fact that he was dead.

Michael had arrived and Gerry was fairly sure the shed or whatever he was being kept in did not have a window before, but it had now and they were leaning against the open window, arms resting on the windowsill that should not be able to accommodate them both, but did. Gerry heard the rain and the wind, but felt nothing, even though he watched the drops fall right through his hands. 

He closed his eyes and tried to remember. He didn’t recall much from how being alive had  _ felt _ anymore. Mostly just the fact that there used to be such memories somewhere in his mind. Of the sun in his face on those first, crisp autumn days. Rain on his hands. The memories had all dried out as his life - or what remained, rather - was reduced to discomfort, pain even, and constant questioning. He felt tired and sore, but even those were just words. They didn't really fit his new, empty existence. Well, it had long stopped being new. 

"What's on your mind?"

Gerry's eyes fluttered open again to see Michael’s vivid ones staring at him. It looked so incredibly bright compared to the grey half-light coming in through the window, so  _ there _ . Gerry knew it hated being so present, but Gerry was glad for its light and colour. Otherwise he could only stare at the white walls and washed-out furniture around him. Or outside, today. His eyes wandered to look outside the window, but it was all grey with heavy rain. He thought he could make out trees in the distance, but it was hard to tell. He wished he could smell.

"I miss feeling the rain." He mumbled, looking down at his hands that would have been soaked by now if the raindrops wouldn’t go right through them.

It hadn’t even taken very long for Gerry to become comfortable enough around Michael to say such things. It was foreign after a lifetime of keeping everything bottled up and pushing emotions that bordered on things too big for him to digest down until they only found him in sleep. 

But there was no real point to it anymore. He was already dead anyways, and while he kept face in front of the hunters - not that there was a whole lot of opportunity to get emotional while being interrogated about one monster or another - he had crumbled quickly around Michael. It hadn’t been its influence, it had no power over him. Michael had still found it a delightful paradox when Gerry had brought up how easy he had opened up to it, shared truths he had, quite literally, taken to the grave. Or whatever had happened to his body, he guessed. Gerry was fairly sure that a lot of it was just that he was too tired to care. And he knew that Michael didn’t really care either. There was no pity when Gerry talked and it was soothing.

Michael interrupted the silence after a moment, “I think Michael does, too.”

Gerry still did not understand, exactly, what Michael was and neither did it seem to know. It didn’t talk about it, usually, though on rare, pensive occasions it volunteered some sliver of information that gave some insight into whatever mess constituted the being that wasn’t Michael, but went by the name begrudgingly. Gerry always wondered if enough of the human that had gone by that name was left for him to make it do so, though it seems unlikely.

“You can’t feel it?” he asked, looking at the hands resting next to his, fingers hopelessly tangled where they overlapped. They looked dry.

“It doesn’t hit if I don’t let it.”

“And if you let it?”

Gerry watched as drops of water hit Michael’s twisted fingers and hands, sliding right off, sometimes seemingly melting into it as drops of colour, sometimes disappearing into a mist of spirals. It shrugged.

“How does it feel?”

“It doesn’t. This isn’t human skin. Michael would know.”

Gerry frowned. “You don’t feel anything?”

“I feel everything.”

“But wrong?” he tried.

Michael hesitated, before saying, “Not always.”

“Not always the same, you mean.”

It didn’t answer, which Gerry assumed meant he was probably too close to the truth. He stretched out his pinky finger, as if to touch Michael’s. He knew he couldn’t, so he stopped, letting it rest a hair’s breadth away from its skin. Or not-skin. At least not human one. He wondered how it might feel. 

It looked close enough to human, most of the time. Gerry watched shapes flicker under it, even their muted colours stark against his own bluish-white translucent finger. It looked so alive, more alive than any human. Always in motion, always colourful. Gerry didn’t word those thoughts, knowing Michael wouldn’t appreciate them. It, as far as Gerry could tell, wasn’t much happier with its own existence than Gerry was with his own.

He didn’t notice it move at first, not until he caught a glimpse at the corner of his eye that had still been trained on the twisting maze-like structures visible through its skin. Its pinky, probably at least thrice the size of Gerry’s, though he knew that Michael could change that at its will, was spiralling around Gerry’s, slowly snaking its way around his digit. It stopped for a moment when their fingers touched, adjusting it so they wouldn’t. 

It was unnecessary. Michael’s fingers might rip through skin and anything else, but Gerry wasn’t really there and so there was nothing to cut or puncture. It still took great care to keep its finger-spiral loose enough so Gerry’s finger was comfortably undisturbed within. Gerry smiled and leaned his head to the side, letting it hover right next to its arm.


End file.
